Chapter 14

CHAPTER

a

14

T heo strolled up the lane to Peachtree Manor. After the heavy rain the prior night, it was like maneuvering an obstacle course. There were mud puddles everywhere. Sane people were still dawdling at home until the sun dried the roads.

Ordinarily, she wouldn't have ventured out, but she'd been pacing and impatiently waiting for Jackson to come down to have breakfast. The servants had been pacing too, eager for their exalted guest to descend so they could pamper him before he left.

She'd grown too nervous about speaking to him, so she'd grabbed a shawl and bonnet and headed outside. Her nerves were jangling, her pulse pounding in her ears, as she tried to deduce what they would say to each other. The entire notion was full of pitfalls she couldn't manage.

She hadn't been to sleep yet, so she was in an odd condition. She'd loafed in Jackson's arms, assuming they'd misbehave again, but she'd exhausted him and he'd dozed off. She'd tarried for a few hours, thinking he'd awaken, but he hadn't. Once the sky had begun to lighten, she'd slid away and tiptoed to her own bedchamber.

She'd stood by the window and had watched the world stir. Everything had looked exactly the same, but she was completely changed. How was that possible? How could she have experienced such a monumental event, only to discover that nothing else was different?

She was extremely disturbed by their conduct, but she wasn't fretting over the moral implications. Nor was she pondering religious tenets like sin and damnation. No, she was struggling to figure out why she'd proceeded to folly.

She knew right from wrong, and an unwed woman wasn't allowed to consort in a physical manner. Lest a bastard be sired, the Church forbade it. Society condemned it and the Law declared it a crime. She'd stepped over numerous lines that she'd had no business crossing, but she wasn't concerned about it.

Before she'd snuck to his room, she'd vowed to herself that she would never marry. Not Arthur or anyone, but she'd been curious about the lewd acts that tarts enjoyed. She'd told herself she could participate as a man would, that she could view it casually, as if it were a strange scientific experiment.

He'd insisted he wouldn't wed her afterward and she'd blithely agreed with that decree. But she'd been a virgin, and while she'd possessed a vague understanding of what would be attempted, she hadn't truly comprehended how intimate it would be. She was bewildered and her emotions were reeling. She wasn't sad, but she was constantly on the verge of tears.

With each stride she took, her feminine parts protested, reminding her of what she'd surrendered. She wasn't upset about it and she certainly wasn't wishing she'd saved herself for marriage. Her maidenhead was a boon she was supposed to confer on a husband, but she hadn't intended to ever have a husband, so Jackson had been the perfect candidate to receive it. It was the one gift he would treasure above any other.

Her problem was that she was overcome by sentiment. She felt firmly attached to him, as if they were bound for all eternity.

Men could shift their lust from one female to another, from wife to mistress to harlot, but how could they be so blasé about it? How could they carelessly shrug it off, as if it had no meaning?

She was devastated by fondness, overwhelmed by affection, and she'd decided that she and Jackson should march to the altar. Immediately. And wasn't that the most deranged idea ever? If she mentioned the outrageous prospect to him, he'd laugh at her foolishness. Yet she couldn't bear to picture him with other women. He seemed to belong to her now and she didn't believe she should have to share.

She rounded the corner toward the house, and Jackson's carriage was parked out front, the horses harnessed, his outriders waiting for him to appear so they could whisk him away. Briefly, she panicked and considered flitting into the woods, so she wouldn't have to face him, but that would be incredibly childish.

She would spend the next week in the country with him, then she'd never be with him again. It was what she planned anyway. After she was back in town, she would meticulously chart her activities, so she never bumped into him. Eventually, her misplaced infatuation would fade. She was sure of it.

She braced herself, then hurried inside. As she entered the foyer, he was tromping down the stairs. For a moment, she paused to gaze up at him, being keen to record how striking he was, so she'd never forget.

The previous evening, she'd had him for her very own. It had been a precious encounter, a thrilling encounter. She couldn't guess if he'd have dear memories of the occasion—or of her—but she would pretend he'd be smitten forever.

He saw her and grinned. "There you are, Miss Cronenworth. The servants informed me that you were walking and I had about given up on you."

"Are you just coming down? Has anyone tended you?"

"I've been up for a bit and the staff has been very kind. I was fed a delicious breakfast, so my day is off to a grand start. I apologize for my fleet exit, but I'm off to London this morning and time is passing. I have to fetch my father, then roll down the road."

She hadn't realized he was leaving. She'd presumed he was tarrying all week, and though she wouldn't have climbed into bed with him again, she'd thought they would socialize. That wasn't happening?

Her disappointment was crushing, but somehow, she hid her distress. Why was he fleeing so abruptly? He was a scoundrel, and he'd had his way with her, so maybe there wasn't a reason for him to linger. Dare she assume that to be the case?

Her heart was aching so painfully that she feared it might simply break into pieces, and she forced herself to inquire, "May I talk to you for a minute?"

"Of course."

She gestured to a nearby parlor where they could have a private conversation. She went into the room, as behind her, Jackson asked a footman to tell his coachmen that he'd be there shortly, so evidently, he intended a quick discussion.

He followed her in and shut the door. He was dressed in the clothes he'd worn to supper: blue coat, tan trousers, knee-high black boots. His hair was combed and tied with a ribbon. He hadn't shaved though, so his cheeks were stubbled, and it gave him a jaunty air, as if he were a bandit or highwayman.

They stared, neither of them able to begin, then he held out his arms and she fell into them. He hugged her so tightly that she couldn't breathe. They stayed pressed together for awhile, then he eased away, gripping her elbows as he studied her.

"I wasn't creeping off without a goodbye," he said.

"I didn't think you were."

"No one was certain when you'd return and I have to get going."

"I know. Don't fret about it."

"What is your opinion about last night?" he asked. "You better not claim you're suffering regrets."

"I have no regrets. None. I'm very glad we proceeded and I'm delighted that I let it be you."

"It was a precious gift I didn't deserve."

She chuckled. "Probably not, but it's too late to wonder if you were worth it."

"I'm positive I wasn't."

He lifted her hands, kissed one, then the other. He leaned down and kissed one cheek, then the other.

"I have to see you in town," he said rather vehemently. "How can we manage it? You have to devise a method for us to fraternize."

"I will invent a perfectly furtive scheme," she lied. It was insane to ponder assignations, for they would be impossible to arrange, but she wasn't about to apprise him. They'd argue, and here at the conclusion of their amour, she only wanted happy words voiced.

"You're not marrying Arthur, are you?" he asked. "Yesterday, you swore you wouldn't, but tell me you haven't changed your mind."

"I haven't changed it. I'll cry off, but not right away. Any announcement will cause quite a ruckus, so first, I have to muster my courage. Arthur won't care very much, but I will pitch his mother into a dither."

"You're a fighter, Theo. You'll figure it out. I have no doubt about it."

"If you run into Arthur, don't mention it to him. I can't have you dropping hints until I've dealt with the matter on my end."

"My lips are sealed."

He was being very sweet, but she was delaying him. His outriders were in the driveway and she sensed that he was eager to join them. She should have had mercy on him and sent him out to them, but she couldn't bear to have the interval be over.

"May I ask you a question?" she said. "Please don't mock or tease me."

"I wouldn't dream of it. What would you like to know?"

"Would you marry me?" He almost jumped in to refuse, so she extended a palm to silence him. "We raced to folly, after agreeing there would be no strings attached, but I can't imagine us separating. Can you?"

"Oh, Theo…" His expression was agonizingly tender. "Is that why you've been walking? Were you working up the nerve to suggest it? You're so brave."

"Or perhaps I'm very foolish. It seems as if we're bound forever."

He sighed. "It's the difference between men and women. Men don't place much importance on their carnal antics. I won't insult you by saying it wasn't special and riveting. It was fantastic."

"But…?"

"But no, I won't marry you. I have other obligations."

"Your mistress?"

"She's one of them, but there are others. I have my title and estate and I'm still adapting to my new role. I have to support my father and the veterans I employ. There are so many people counting on me, but all I want to do is loaf and gamble. At the moment, matrimony isn't a choice I can consider."

"You're such a compelling and magnetic individual. How can your loafing and vices be enough for you?"

"They won't always be, but they're enough for now."

"Would you not gamble with Arthur again? If I become imperiled by his wagering, I would hate to have you be the one who imperiled me."

"I will stop. I have stopped."

"Thank you."

Tears flooded her eyes and he was upset to observe them. "You're not sad, are you?" he said. "I can't stand that I've distressed you."

"I'm not distressed; I'm just being overly emotional. When I participated, I didn't grasp how overwhelming it would be. It's left me rattled and anxious."

"It's very common for a maiden to be flustered. Your disorientation will pass."

She smiled halfheartedly. "Yes, I'm sure it will."

After that, there wasn't much else to discuss. She was supposed to be casually acquainted with him, so she couldn't appear in the foyer and look as if she'd been weeping. She swiped a hand across her eyes and he pulled her close again to deliver another tight hug. He kissed her, and it was chaste and affectionate, providing no sign of the type of raucous passion they'd generated the evening before.

"I'll expect you to contact me very soon," he said, "and I will wait with bated breath to learn your strategy for how we can sneak off occasionally."

It was a deranged request. There was absolutely no way they could be friendly. Once she severed her betrothal, it would be too painful to see him, but she didn't admit it. She simply pretended they could develop a suitable plan, one where she constantly disgraced herself in isolated locations.

Why wouldn't he figure she'd be amenable? She was a fallen woman, and whenever he gazed at her, he'd picture her in an illicit situation. How long would that kind of affair last? Not long, she suspected. He was a cad and they were notorious for having very short attention spans. If she engaged in a full-on amour with him, he would quickly grow tired of her. Then where would she be?

"Will you escort me out?" he asked.

"Yes. I'd like that."

He frowned. "You don't think I'm running away, do you?"

"It's not that." She should have bitten her tongue, but she said, "I assumed you were staying all week."

"I had a message from town. I have a meeting on Tuesday that I can't miss, so I have to get back for it. I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry."

"Will you tarry in the country without me?"

"Yes. I will enjoy the remainder of my holiday."

His cheeks reddened, and suddenly, he was abashed as he said, "I wasn't careful with you."

She had no idea what he was talking about. "Careful how? What do you mean?"

"When a couple fornicates, there's a trick to keep a babe from catching in your womb. You had me so aroused that I was incredibly negligent."

She scowled and her knees weakened. "Are you telling me I could be with child? Is that it?"

The prospect was so outlandish, and she was so na?ve, that it hadn't occurred to her. Of course a child could be sired! It was the reason there were such strict rules about physical misbehavior, rules so harsh that it was against the law. She was so inexperienced though—and so enamored of him. She'd raced to ruin with nary a thought to the consequences.

"You could be increasing," he gently said, "but it rarely happens from just one attempt, so I hope you won't worry about it."

His comment didn't sound true. There were regular stories of unlucky girls who'd been ensnared and who claimed they'd dallied just once, but she nodded. "I will cross my fingers that you're correct."

"If calamity arises, you have to inform me. Promise?"

"Yes, I promise."

Apparently, he deemed the topic to have been sufficiently addressed. He opened the door and exited into the hall. He gestured for her to precede him, and he was all smiles, all polite, merry nobleman.

She headed to the foyer, but she could barely focus. Her mind was stuck on the notion that a baby could have been created from her rash act. It was completely typical that she hadn't pondered the ramifications. She was such an idiot!

They went out to the driveway and his servants leapt to attention. Their respect for him was clear, which wasn't surprising. He inspired fondness and devotion. Just consider how ridiculously she had carried on in his presence.

They reached the carriage and it was so difficult to feign nonchalance. She yearned to kiss him and whisper sweet nothings as they parted, but they had an audience, so they had to be sensible.

"Thank you for the lovely supper," he said to her, "and for the comfortable beds for me and my men. I'm grateful we didn't have to brave the rain."

"It was our pleasure. The staff will be bragging about your visit for months."

He grinned. "How terrifying to think so."

"Have a safe trip to London," she said. "Be careful."

"I am always careful."

She tsked with annoyance. "You're limping, Lord Thornhill, so that was not an accurate statement."

"I'm generally careful, and this is boring, stodgy England, so I doubt we'll encounter any bandits on the road."

An outrider tipped his cap to Theo and said, "We'll guard him with our lives, Miss Cronenworth."

"I'm relieved to hear it," she replied.

Jackson climbed into the vehicle, and while he and the outrider tried to hide it, the man had to help him manage the steps. He was more injured than he ever let on and it pained her to remember it.

He leaned out the window and said, "Goodbye and thank you again."

"You're welcome."

And that's all there was. The driver called to the team, and he was down the lane and out of sight. She watched until he'd vanished, then she spun and staggered inside.

She'd been hollowed out, her veins filled with ice, as if she'd been turned to stone. She trudged up to her room and locked the door. She laid down on the bed and stayed there all day. Even when the sun set and a maid knocked to check on her, she didn't move.

Her heart was broken. It really, truly was and she was too bereft for words.

v

"Where were you?"

As Jackson's father posed the question, there was a sharp tone in his voice, so Jackson ignored him. He was back at Owl's Nest and he wouldn't explain himself or bicker. They were upstairs in the bedchamber he'd used during the gambling party, and he wouldn't exactly be sad to leave it behind.

His satchel was on the mattress and he tossed some clothes into it. There were some servants in the house, but with no owner on the premises, they were lazy and distracted. He hadn't always been a posh aristocrat, so he hadn't requested they handle the task for him. He could pack his own bloody clothes.

"I had supper at Peachtree," he said to Cedric. "You're aware of that, and as we were eating, the storm blew in. Theo suggested I spend the night rather than venture out and get soaked."

"So it's Theo, is it? That sounds awfully cozy."

Jackson whipped around and glared. Cedric was sitting on the chair in the corner and drinking, even though it wasn't yet noon.

"What are you insinuating about her?" Jackson asked. "I'm in a dreadful mood, so be very cautious about what you're implying."

"You're quite testy and you don't have to bite my head off. What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong. I'd simply like to depart. Are you ready?"

"Yes. Lola is too. We've been waiting for you to show your sorry face."

"Is Arthur here?"

"Yes, but he and Nell reveled until dawn, so he just barely crawled into bed. I don't expect you'll see him before we sneak off."

"Will he arrive for our meeting on Tuesday? What's your prediction?"

"He's a stupid oaf, and for reasons I can't fathom, he believes he's grander than you. So no, I don't suppose he'll oblige you. He'll make you cool your heels, merely to prove he can."

"Figures…" Jackson muttered and he stared out the window at the decrepit garden.

Cedric let him stew for a minute, then he said, "If he doesn't appear as you've commanded, what will you do?"

"I can't decide right now."

"I didn't appreciate you abandoning me last night. I had only this group of dunces for company, so there was no one to provide intelligent conversation. I don't mind the tarts, but the men are a pathetic bunch."

"You survived."

"Lola has been in a snit."

"She's always in a snit," Jackson said.

"Yes, but she's certain you were off chasing a new skirt. I'm afraid you're in for a tongue-lashing. I don't imagine it will be a very agreeable ride home."

Jackson smirked. "Should I hire a private coach and send her in it by herself? It would give us some peace and quiet for the trip."

"I hate to have you waste the money. I guess we can tolerate her for a few hours, even if she's inclined to be nasty."

Jackson didn't reply. He was roiling with emotion and overcome by sentiment in a manner he never was. He'd assumed his tryst with Theo would be similar to his past dalliances, but to his great astonishment, he was unusually distraught. He felt terrible about their abrupt parting. The whole event had been unsettling for her. It had been unsettling for him too, but he hadn't bothered to tarry and ease her concerns.

He was embarrassed and ashamed, and he kept wondering if he shouldn't reschedule his London confrontation with Arthur. Why not loaf with Theo instead, as they'd originally planned? It's what she'd presumed would happen. Why not surprise her?

He snorted with disgust. He was entirely too obsessed with her and he wasn't about to immerse himself more deeply into her life. He was inappropriately tempting her and toying with her affections, but he was a vain rogue who'd never worried much about behaving himself. He'd already justified the incident with a dozen excuses as to how she'd wanted what had transpired.

Hadn't she practically begged to be ruined? Afterward, she'd brazenly suggested they wed, so it was clear he'd mucked up their relationship. He probably didn't dare ever speak to her again.

"You're so grouchy," Cedric said. "Why is that precisely?"

"I was horrid to Theo."

"How were you horrid? Don't tell me you seduced her. You were alone with her in that big house. Is that what occurred?"

Jackson glowered at him. "I'm not a blabbermouth like you. I don't boast about my conquests."

"Meaning what?" Cedric asked. "You had a conquest? Please calm my sudden panic and swear you didn't trifle with her."

"I didn't," Jackson lied.

Cedric spat out a derisive laugh. "I don't believe you. You can't have forgotten my affair with her mother. How could you consider such an outrage? It would seem almost incestuous to hear that I corrupted the mother and you corrupted the daughter."

"Cedric, for once, just shut the hell up."

A thousand words were rolling around inside Jackson and struggling to burst out. He was anxious to discuss his folly, anxious to confide in someone, but Cedric was the very last person with whom he'd confer about a sexual peccadillo. His father had no honor and no conscience, so he wouldn't have a valid comment to offer.

Jackson walked over to the dresser, retrieved his remaining clothes, and stuffed them in the satchel.

Cedric watched him with a critical eye, then asked, "Are you sweet on her? Is your heart broken?"

"You're being more absurd than ever and I've never had a broken heart. I don't have a heart, remember?"

He grabbed the bag and stomped out. Cedric could follow or not. Jackson was too forlorn, and too miserable, to care.